


What Happens At Halamshiral

by SunGirl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Rape Recovery, based on someone else's fic, cullen has a lot of self-hatred, so you probably wanna read that first, tw: internalized victim blaming, tw: rape aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8968327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunGirl/pseuds/SunGirl
Summary: A sequel of sorts to WindySuspiration's fic 'It Happened on a Night at Halamshiral', because it made me so sad for poor Cullen I just had to write something to make things at least a tiny bit better for him. The basic premise of the original fic is that Cullen's admirers at the Winter Palace get quite a bit bolder than they do in canon, and after being attacked Cullen pretty much blames himself for the whole thing and sees it as proof of his lack of value. The basic premise of this fic is that the rest of the Inquisition isn't about to take that shit lying down.What happens at Halamshiral gets avenged by the Inquisition.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [It Happened on a Night at Halamshiral](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158599) by [WindySuspirations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindySuspirations/pseuds/WindySuspirations). 



> Right now I'm looking at this thing having three to four chapters, although it might be a while until I get the next one up. Basically what I have planned is this first chapter with Dorian, a long discussion with the Inquisitor that eventually resolves in a relationship, and finally some good old fashioned revenge from the rest of the inner circle.

“Cullen! Cullen, open the door, please!”

Cullen jerks awake, sitting up and immediately letting out a sharp cry. Maker, why does every muscle in his body seem to _hurt_?

He closes his eyes, but that doesn’t stop the room from spinning around him as the memories come flooding back. The Ball, the Inquisitor, the Orlesians and their wandering hands… And then it had been more than hands. Cullen shakes his head, fighting back the urge to be sick.

He’d intended to return to his room and wash off the filth of that encounter, but the last thing he remembers is locking the door and barely making it to his bed before dizziness overtook him. How pitiful.

Someone is still knocking insistently.

“Cullen?”

He recognizes Dorian’s voice.

“I’m fine!” He calls, the words coming out ragged and raspy.

Dorian huffs.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not inclined to believe you.”

Cullen clears his throat before speaking again, although it isn’t of much help.

“Really, Dorian. I’m fine. Please just… Leave me alone.”

“Not until you open this door.”

This in unusually straightforward for Dorian, Cullen reflects absently. He’s stubborn, of course, perhaps matched in that only by Cullen himself, but he’s usually much more clever about it. This plain, bullheaded refusal isn’t like him.

“Dorian I… I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t need your help.”

From the other side of the door, Cullen hears Dorian give a long sigh. When he speaks again, his voice is hard.

“Cullen, if you won’t let me in, I’ll have to go get the Inquisitor.”

“No!” Cullen says before he can stop himself. The Inquisitor can’t see him like this. She can’t _know_.

“So open the door.” Dorian says evenly.

Cullen growls, then immediately regrets it, as it makes his throat burn. He stumbles to his feet, ignoring the ache in his muscles, and wrenches the door open.

He almost slams it shut again at the look on Dorian’s face. The man has no right to look so Maker damned _concerned_.

Dorian frowns when he sees Cullen, his eyebrows drawing together. He takes a deep breath and steps inside.

“Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Cullen shuts the door and locks it again. He’ll be damned if he lets anyone sneak up on him.

“I can clean up myself. I-- I don’t need...”

He expects Dorian to protest, to insist on helping him, but the other man just nods.

“Okay.” He agrees quietly. “I’ll get the water started.”

Dorian hasn’t tried to touch him either, which is more of a relief than Cullen wants to admit.

Maker, he wishes this were all a dream, one of his withdrawal nightmares, but deep down he knows it’s not. It’s far too disgustingly, painfully real. And the Inquisitor… If the Maker has not forsaken him completely, she will never know what happened. She will never know just how wretched he truly is.

Dorian, meanwhile, is turning and adjusting various knobs, checking the temperature of the water that flows out of a thin pipe into the basin beneath it. It’s a good thing Dorian is here, really, Cullen thinks. He would never have been able to figure out the complicated looking mechanism that fills the tub on his own.

He stands, staring at the water, doing his best not to think, until Dorian shuts it off and gestures from him to the tub.

“There we are. Nice warm bath. One of life’s greatest pleasures, really.”

Cullen nods stiffly, but makes no move to undress or get into the bath. For all that he wants desperately to be clean, his heart starts pounding in his chest at the thought of removing his clothes, of being naked, exposed, Maker all those hands touching him, manicured nails digging sharply into his skin, poking and prodding all the places they didn’t belong--

“Cullen?”

He blinks, and Dorian’s worried face swims into view. The other man’s hands are on his shoulders, and Cullen winces at the realization that Dorian is supporting a good amount of his weight, as if he’d been about to fall.

“I-- Forgive me. I was… distracted.”

“It’s alright.” Dorian assures him. “You did want to take a bath, yes?”

Cullen takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“I-I do, but it’s… I…”

“Is it privacy?” Dorian asks gently.

Cullen nods, his face burning with shame. Maker, what’s wrong with him? He’s acting like a helpless child. Is this the kind of man he’s become? Someone who can’t even undress without succumbing to fear? He’s pathetic.

Dorian leaves the room and returns with a folding screen, which he sets up in front of the bathtub.

“Better?”

“Yes.” Cullen admits quietly. His hands still shake as he removes his clothes, but he manages to get himself into the tub without collapsing.

Getting a look at himself naked doesn’t exactly make him feel better. There are bruises forming on his hips, and his inner thighs are crusted with dried blood and semen. Maker, he’s disgusting. He wants to be sick, but that would solve nothing.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asks from the other side of the screen.

“Of course.” Cullen insists, struggling to keep his voice steady as he picks up the bar of soap on the table next to the basin. It’s detestably perfumed, but he rubs it over himself anyway, scrubbing hard at his skin.

He’s still scrubbing when he hears Dorian stand up and leave the room, and by the time the other man has returned, Cullen’s skin is starting to turn bright pink. He keeps scrubbing at it anyway, spreading on more soap and ignoring the way it stings. The grime of the encounter is gone, but he still feels _dirty_. He supposes he is; a dirty, useless, weak little man. How could he ever have thought the Inquisitor would want him?

“Cullen?” Dorian asks cautiously. “Are you still alright?”

“Fine.” Cullen says, but his voice betrays him, cracking around the word.

“Are you certain?” Dorian insists.

“Y-Yes, I--” Maker, he can feel tears beading up in his eyes. No. He’s not going to cry. Not on top of all the humiliation he’s already suffered.

“Cullen, I…” Dorian pokes his head around the screen, eyes going wide when he sees Cullen still scrubbing fiercely at his own raw skin. He pushes the screen aside, grabbing Cullen’s wrists to pull his hands away from himself. “Cullen, stop! Stop, you’re hurting yourself!”

“I don’t care!” Cullen growls, trying to wrench his wrists from Dorian’s grasp. “I can’t-- I’m not-- I need to be _clean_ , I can’t--”

“Shhhh.” Dorian says softly, taking Cullen’s hands in his own. “Shhhhh, it’s alright. You’re safe. You’re safe here.”

Cullen glares at him, but stops struggling. Dorian releases his hands.

“There, that’s it. Now, you’ve had a nice bath, time to get dressed.”

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.” Cullen mutters.

Dorian frowns a little.

“I... I’m sorry. That was not my intention.”

“S’fine.” Cullen shakes his head. “I am behaving rather childishly.”

“No you are not.” Dorian says firmly, offering Cullen a towel. “You are behaving like a man who has just been through something horrible, and is understandably shaken by it.”

Cullen stands up carefully and begins to dry himself off, mostly for something to do so he doesn't have to look at Dorian.

Once he's dry he steps out of the tub, gritting his teeth against the pain of his aching muscles, and a persistent, internal sting that he'd rather not consider.

Dorian hands him items of clean clothing and Cullen dresses mechanically. When he's done, Dorian leads him back to his bed. Cullen follows tacitly, just like he'd followed that Maker damned woman and her despicable friend.

His stomach spins as he remembers their honey-sweet voices praising him, their hands stroking him, the woman with her mouth on him, the man pressing his cock inside--

The next thing he is aware of is being hunched on the floor, vomiting into a pail as Dorian supports him, one hand on Cullen’s chest and the other on his back.

He would have expected Dorian, pampered noble that he is, to be disgusted by this display, but the other man doesn't even bat an eye. When Cullen stops and sits hunched over the pail, breath ragged and eyes stinging with tears, Dorian simply asks, “Finished?” in a gentle tone.

Cullen nods shakily. “I-- I think so.”

“Alright.” Dorian agrees. “I'll be right back. I'm going to get you some water.”

There's not much Cullen can do until he gets back. His arms are barely supporting him, and he doesn't even want to think about trying to stand.

Thankfully, Dorian returns quickly, helping Cullen sit up before pressing a glass of water into his hands. Cullen uses the first sip to rinse his mouth, spitting it into the pail, then drinks the rest.

“Not too fast.” Dorian coaches him. “You'll make yourself sick again.”

Cullen nods, sipping slowly.

“I… I'm sorry for… all of this.”

“No.” Dorian shakes his head. “No apologies. Nothing here is your fault.”

“It's my fault that you have to care for me like some bloody invalid!” Cullen says harshly.

Dorian gives him a stern look.

“I hardly think you got hurt on purpose.”

“I should have stopped it.” Cullen says quietly. “I-- I didn't even fight back. I just let them…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Dorian says, shaking his head.

“Of course it does!” Cullen snaps. “I let them touch me, I _let_ them put their filthy hands--”

“It doesn’t matter.” Dorian insists. “What you did or didn’t do is completely beside the point. What they did to you was wrong. Period.”

Cullen looks at the floor, unable to bear the sincerity in Dorian’s face.

“I couldn't--” Cullen shakes his head, feeling tears in his eyes again. “I _wanted,_ to, but I couldn't, and I just let them-- t-touch me and I didn't even fight-- I couldn’t move, I couldn’t _think!_ I might have had a chance, but the damned withdrawal--”

“Wait.” Dorian holds up a hand, something hard in his expression. “You were… You couldn’t fight back because of the withdrawal?”

Cullen closes his eyes as he nods, face burning with shame. He feels a few tears slide down his cheeks, but no longer cares enough to wipe them away.

There is a moment of silence before he feels Dorian’s cautious touch on his arm.

“Cullen, I… Are you sure that's what it was?”

Cullen's eyes snap open to glare at the other man.

“What else would it be?”

“Well…” Dorian hesitates. “Was there anything unusual about what you felt? Something not typical of the withdrawals?”

“I… I suppose there was.” Cullen admits. “An intense sensation of heat, like the warmest days of summer. That’s never happened before.”

“Witherstalk.” Dorian mutters, almost to himself. “Probably mixed with deathroot or blood lotus.”

Cullen stares at him.

“I don’t see what this has to do with-- A-Are you saying they…?”

“Drugged you?” Dorian sighs. “I think it’s very likely.”

“Maker.” Cullen shakes his head, closing his eyes as if that will keep the truth from pressing in on him. “They… One of the women brought me a drink, and I didn’t even consider… I’m such an idiot.”

“You are not.” Dorian says firmly. “These people hurt you. They are entirely the ones at fault, and yet you insist on blaming yourself.”

“If I had just thought for a moment, if I had payed any attention, if--” If he hadn’t been too busy staring at Evelyn, letting his selfish desires overtake his reason… “If I hadn’t been so stupid, so complacent, so-- so damned _weak_ \--”

“No.”

Dorian's hands are on his shoulders, and he is at least attempting to look into Cullen’s eyes, although Cullen is making an equally valiant effort to avoid his gaze.

“Cullen, look at me. You are not weak.”

“I am. I was. I should have fought it.”

“No ‘should have.’ Don't do that to yourself.”

“I'm a warrior, Dorian! Fighting is who I am! If I can't even do that, can't even protect myself, what good am I?”

“You can protect yourself.” Dorian tells him sincerely. “You still can. What happened back there, whatever you did or didn't do, that was surviving. That was doing what you had to do so you could sit with me now. Fighting, starts now. Now, you fight them tooth and nail. You fight by not letting what they did change who you are.”

“It didn’t.” Cullen says firmly. “It just reminded me of a few things.” He forces himself to stand, ignoring the way the world spins around him and pushing Dorian off when the other man tries to help him. “I’m going to bed.”

“Alright.” Dorian sighs. “You should try to get some sleep. But don’t think I’m just going to let you drop this and push everyone away.”

Cullen just shakes his head as he curls into himself underneath the covers, blessed numbness finally overtaking him, quieting the raw nerve his emotions have become over the past hour.

Dorian can say what he wants, but Cullen will never speak of this again.


	2. Chapter Two

Cullen does not sleep well that night. His nightmare world is full of grasping hands, tugging, pushing, scraping, tearing-- taking from him, taking _everything_ \--

The dreams don’t wake him, but he almost wishes they would.

He still feels exhausted when he wakes the next morning to find Dorian asleep in the chair next to his bed. A wave of guilt washes over him as Cullen realizes that Dorian has likely been there all night. How late did the other man stay up, just to supervise some useless wreck of a capable man?

He tries to stay quiet as he prepares for the day, but his still-aching body betrays him and he stumbles, waking Dorian with the clatter of little jars when he catches himself on the dressing table.

Dorian sits up in the chair, offering Cullen a small smile as he fixes his hair and mustache.

“You’re up. That’s a good sign.”

“Of course I’m up.” Cullen scoffs, straightening himself. “I have to prepare for the journey back to Skyhold. You should be doing the same.”

“I packed last night.” Dorian says, shrugging. “Before I came to see you.”

“Then you should eat something before we depart.” Cullen tells him. “It’s a long journey.”

Dorian shakes his head a little.

“Why, Commander, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”

“There’s no reason for you to be here.” Cullen answers stiffly. “I appreciate your, er, assistance last night, but I’m fine now. You can go.”

“You’re right.” Dorian hums. “It is a long journey. I’m going to get us both some breakfast.”

“I’m fine.” Cullen assures him. “I’m not hungry.”

“But you should eat.” Dorian counters as he leaves the room. “I won’t be a minute…”

Cullen sighs as he watches him go. Dorian is right, he will need his strength for the ride back to Skyhold. But even the thought of food makes his stomach turn.

Maker, he has to get ahold of himself. This is ridiculous. The shame shouldn’t affect him so much. After all, it’s nothing new. 

If anything, this is a reminder of what kind of man he really is. He thought he could be better when he’d left the Order, that he could maybe even become the kind of man deserving of the Inquisitor’s attention. That all seems ridiculous now. It’s probably good he got this reminder, before he did something stupid. Like tell the Inquisitor how much she means to him.

Dorian returns a few minutes later with breakfast, and Cullen forces himself to eat. Every swallow feels like choking, but he continues ruthlessly until his plate is clean. There’s no time for his weakness now. Especially not if he wants to avoid questions about what happened the previous night.

Once he’s eaten he begins to strap on his armor, a task made difficult by his still aching muscles. There is still a vicious tear in his skin where the masked Bastien took him roughly, and it flares to life with pain when he lifts a leg to pull on his boots.

Dorian is at his side immediately when Cullen gasps at the hurt, an arm around his shoulders to support him.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small unmarked jar containing some sort of cream.

“Here.” Dorian says, offering the jar to Cullen. “This will help with the pain. It should help you heal faster too. I mean to give it to you last night.”

“How… How did you…?”

“How did I what? Know?” Dorian scoffs. “I may not have been in quite your situation before, but I have plenty of experience with partners being… less gentle that I would have prefered, to put it delicately.”

Cullen stares at him.

“I… I didn’t… I’m sorry, Dorian, I…”

“No.” Dorian says firmly. “As much as I do love talking about myself, now is not the time for my problems.”

“But--”

“Not right now.” Dorian insists. “How about we finish getting you dressed?”

Cullen manages to complete the rest of his routine without much incident other than the continuing pain, and he and Dorian head out to meet the others at the gates.

The Inquisitor calls his name when she sees him, and Cullen has to restrain a strong desire to flee as she smiles brightly in greeting. He feels like something revolting under her gaze, festering and rotting just under the skin. She may not see it, but Cullen knows it’s there and he feels ashamed to have forced his disgusting presence upon her.

He must have hesitated too long, because she frowns a little and he does his best to force a smile onto his face.

“Good morning, Inquisitor.”

Before anyone can say more, he hoists himself into his saddle and flicks the reins to head out of the gate.

Riding a horse is an agony Cullen didn’t think to consider, but even if he had there wouldn’t have been anything to be done about it. Not riding would only arouse suspicion, and he doubts the carriages would be much more comfortable anyhow.

Still, it _hurts_ , and he’s grateful for the pause when they stop hours later to water their horses.

Or at least, he’s grateful until he dismounts and finds that his legs refuse to support him.

He barely has a moment to panic, however, before the Iron Bull is at his side, one arm firmly around his shoulders. His grip is surprisingly gentle for his size, yet still strong enough that when they walk together he’s almost more carrying Cullen then supporting him.

“I-- Thank you.” Cullen breathes.

Bull just offers him a nod as Dorian leads Cullen’s horse to the stream for him.

“How you holding up, big guy?”

“Fine.” Cullen says quickly. “Just-- Just tired.”

“Right.” Bull sighs. “By the way, any chance you’d recognize those faces if you saw them again?”

“They wore _masks_.” Cullen points out, sounding more bitter than he intended to.

“Course.” Bull shakes his head. “Still, if I ever find out who they were…”

“I thought you’d be happy.” Cullen says savagely, suddenly feeling an anger towards Bull that he can no more explain than control. “You’re always telling me I need to ‘relieve some stress’.”

“Not like that.” Bull answers immediately, voice firm. “Nothing like that. Not ever.”

“I-- I’m sorry.” Cullen says quickly, the flash of anger gone as quickly as it had come. “That was unworthy. I didn’t mean to suggest… I know you're not...”

Bull glances around to make sure none of the others are close enough to overhear before turning Cullen to face him, one of his big hands on each of the smaller man’s shoulders.

“Cullen, listen to me, okay? Sex isn’t supposed to be like that.”

“I know it’s not--”

“No, listen. Obviously sex is supposed to be voluntary, you know that, but it’s also supposed to feel good. It’s supposed to make you feel good. Under the Qun, we see it as a kind of healing. And those… things, they took something that’s supposed to be healing and used it to hurt you. That’s the worst thing anyone could ever do.”

Cullen looked away, not knowing how to respond.

“Right.” He said finally. “I, um, appreciate you saying that.”

Bull sighs.

“Dorian said you were being stubborn. But just… Think about what I said, yeah? And if you ever find out who those _basra_ were, you let me know.”

Cullen nods, still not quite looking at Bull.

His legs feel a bit more steady now, and he manages to walk back towards the rest of the group and retrieve his horse from Dorian.

When the Inquisitor announces that they’re heading back out on the road, Bull is already in position to help Cullen back onto the horse, and again when they stop for the night, the Qunari dismounts and is immediately there to help Cullen dismount.

Cullen has known all along that it’s foolish to hope no one will notice he requires this assistance, but that doesn’t make it feel any better when Cole seems to suddenly appear on the Iron Bull’s other side. He holds out a flask to Cullen.

“Solas says this will help with the pain, and make you go to sleep.”

“I-- I don’t need any more potions. I’m fine.” Cullen tells the boy.

“Drink tastes strange but I don’t think much of it, then they steal me away, their hands on me, they tricked me, they made me weak so they could--” Cole pulls away the flask and tucks it back in his pocket. “Solas wants to help, but this will make it worse. It feels too much like the other thing. You don’t have to take it.”

Cullen clears his throat, pushing away the encroaching panic at the not nearly distant enough memories Cole has stirred up.

“Yes, thank you Cole. Tell Solas I appreciate the gesture.”

Cole nods.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what they did. Dorian talked to me about it. He says it’s not mine to share. I think I understand what he means. But you should tell her. She’d understand.”

“Thank you, Cole.” Cullen says forcefully, hoping that will make the boy stop talking and leave him alone.

Thankfully, Cole does leave, but Bull looks down at Cullen with a critical eye.

“Kid’s right, you know. You should tell the boss what happened.”

“Absolutely not.” Cullen snaps. “Thank you for your assistance, but I’m perfectly alright now. If you wish to consult with me on Inquisition business, you can find me in my tent.”

He stalks off, giving silent thanks to the Maker for the small grace of having left Cassandra behind at Skyhold to supervise operations in the Inquisitor’s absence.

Undoubtedly she would be pestering him too, were she here.

Tell the Inquisitor what happened. What kind of advice is that? The only thing keeping him sane at the moment is the hope that she will never find out. Volunteering the information is quite literally the last thing he wants to do.

Cullen shakes his head as he steps into his tent. He can’t afford this sort of weakness now, not when so many people are counting on him.

He has work to do, and for the first time he can remember he is grateful for the seemingly endless reports to read, letters to write, and requisitions to file. It allows him to focus on something else, anything else, to push the memories away and think about something that doesn’t make him want to claw his skin off.

He shakes his head when Blackwall ducks his head inside the tent to say that the others are eating dinner. He can’t stop working. If he stops working there will be nothing to distract him from-- Well. He just has to keep working.

Hours later, or maybe days, a gentle voice breaks his concentration.

“Cullen?”

He looks up.

Oh no. Please, Maker, not her. Not now. He can’t face her, he needs more time…

But the Inquisitor is looking at him expectantly, and Cullen can’t very well tell her to go away, so he does his best to arrange his features into an expression that doesn’t look completely terrified. He still can’t quite meet her eyes, though, and the feeling of being something vile has returned, even more intense now that she is closer.

“Cullen?” She says again.

He clears his throat.

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

She frowns, worrying her lip as she considers what to say.

“Are you… Are you feeling alright?”

She’s noticed. Of course she’s noticed, he’s done a dreadful job at hiding it, if he’s honest with himself. What did he expect?

“Yes, I… I’m fine, Inquisitor.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’m simply tired. Orlesian social events are more exhausting and more impossible than fighting a dragon unarmed.”

The Inquisitor laughs, and for a moment Cullen thinks he’s managed to fool her, but then she says,

“Did something happen at the ball?”

His blood turns to ice in his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished the second chapter, yay! Sorry it took so long, school started again and has made things pretty difficult, but I've got a fair amount of Chapter 3 written already, so hopefully that'll take less time to update than this one did! Chapter 4 (the revenge chapter!) might take a bit longer though, since I'm still formulating the ideas for that. Thanks so much to everyone for reading, and to WindySuspiration for writing the fic that inspired this one!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the comfort we've all been waiting for. :)

“Did something happen at the ball?”

Cullen’s blood turns to ice in his veins.

“No!” He says quickly.

Too quickly.

The Inquisitor frowns at him, and Maker, the worried look on her face hurts him. He doesn’t deserve her pity.

“Cullen…” She starts again. “I… do you mind if I sit down?”

There isn’t much room in the tent not taken up by the bedroll Cullen is currently sitting on, but he nods anyway and she sits on the ground, folding her legs under her. Maker, she is close enough for him to reach out and touch.

His mind immediately presents an image of her recoiling in disgust, and he pushes that thought away.

The Inquisitor fixes him with a calculating stare, and Cullen can’t help but fidget uncomfortably under her gaze.

“What happened last night?” She asks, and Cullen notes that she is no longer humoring him with ‘if.’ “You disappeared in the middle of the ball--”

“I’m sorry!” Cullen says quickly. “I-I know it was irresponsible of me to leave my post, but it-- it won’t happen again--”

“That’s not what I’m worried about right now.” Evelyn interrupts him gently. “You disappeared, I sent Dorian and Bull after you, and they were gone for _hours_. When I finally saw Dorian again, all he could tell me was that they’d found you, that you’d gone to your room, I shouldn’t visit you, and it wasn’t his place to say more. What am I supposed to think?”

“I-- I was drunk.” Cullen says quickly. “I-- People kept handing me drinks and-- and I didn’t want to be impolite and, um… I must have left my post for that reason. I-I don’t remember very clearly.”

The Inquisitor sighs.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t have told me so easily.”

Damn. She’s right.

“I-- I thought it best to be honest…”

“Cullen.” She grabs his hand and he barely manages not to flinch away at her touch. “Please, you’re scaring me. What in the world happened that you’d rather I think you were drunk than tell me the truth?”

“Nothing.” He lies, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. “At least, n-nothing you need to concern yourself with. I will not allow this to-- to influence my work.”

“Influence-- I’m not worried about your work, Cullen! I’m worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Cullen says hoarsely.

“What?!”

“You shouldn’t worry about me. I’m only useful to you as Commander of the Inquisition’s army. So long as I am able to fulfill that duty, you don’t need to concern yourself with me.”

The Inquisitor is staring at him.

“What are you _talking_ about? Cullen, I-- Are you saying you don’t want to… you don’t want me?”

Maker, Cullen can’t do this. He feels sick again. A voice in the back of his head whispers that it would be better to lie to her, a clean break, just let her think he lost interest. It’ll hurt less in the long run. But he can’t do that to her. She deserves honesty, if not about the previous night, at least about this.

“No, I… Maker knows, I want you more than anything, but I can’t-- I shouldn’t-- _we_ shouldn’t do this.”

“And why not?” She sounds angry. Maybe he should have lied.

“Because-- Because I’m not worthy of you.” Cullen’s voice breaks, and he feels tears starting to sting at the corners of his eyes. No, he can’t cry in front of her. Not when he’s already shown so much weakness.

“Not _worthy_? When did you decide this, exactly?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Cullen?” She snaps, then takes a deep breath, and her voice softens. “Cullen, does this have something to do with last night?”

“Yes.” He admits, before he can stop himself. “But I-- It’s not that I _decided_ I just realized, I-- You deserve better than me.”

Evelyn glares at him.

“That’s not up to you. I’m a grown woman, Cullen. I can make my own decisions. I don’t need someone else telling me what is and isn’t good for me. You don’t get to just shut me out with no explanation. That’s not fair.”

“I-It’s-- I-- You’re right.” Cullen admits quietly, turning his head away so she doesn’t see the tears running down his cheeks. “I don’t mean to-- to tell you what to do or to leave you in the dark, but I--” He chokes on a sob, tears coming faster now. “I c-can’t bear you seeing me like this. I-- I’m broken, I’m weak, I-- I let them-- I’m disgusting! I don’t deserve-- I don’t deserve for you to even look at me-- t-to treat me like anything more than _filth_ \--”

“Oh, Cullen… ” She winds her arms around him, pulling him closer, and Cullen is weak and selfish, so he presses his face into her shoulder and cries. 

"Slow down." The Inquisitor says gently. "Shhhh. Cullen, you are good. You are a good man. A strong man. You’ve survived so much, come so far.”

“No. I’m-- I’m falling apart. I’m useless. I-- I didn’t even _fight_ \--”

“Didn’t fight _what?_ ”

“The Orlesians.” Cullen says tonelessly. “The-- The courtiers, some of them, they-- they put something in my drink that made me-- unfocused, and--” 

He gags, nearly vomiting, and Evelyn squeezes his arm gently.

“Shhhh, it’s alright. It’s alright, I’m here. You’re safe now. Just tell me what happened.”

“They-- They took me somewhere away from the main hall.” Cullen breathes, feeling lightheaded. “And they-- they took turns--” He clenches his teeth hard enough to make them hurt, before forcing his mouth open and spitting out the final words of the confession. “They took turns _using_ me.”

Evelyn gasps.

Cullen looks up at her and sees the horror, the revulsion that he knew would be in her face. She knows now. She sees him for what he truly is.

“I’ll kill them.” She hisses.

“I-- I’m sorry.” Cullen forces himself to say, even though he can barely see from how the world is spinning, and his tongue feels like lead in his mouth. “I understand if you-- If you wish to dismiss me.”

“What? Why in the world would I do that?!”

“It’s… shaming.” Cullen says heavily. “It could reflect badly on the Inquisition if anyone were to find out. Not to mention that our troops would hardly want to follow a Commander who let himself be--”

“No.” Evelyn says sharply. “I don’t want to hear you say something like that ever again! You did not _let_ them do anything. They attacked you!”

“I should have fought back!” Cullen snaps, tears still streaming down his face.

“They drugged you!”

“I should have overcome it! I should have been smart enough not to drink the damn thing in the first place! I should have-- I should have done _anything_ before I let them-- ”

“You _did not_ let them!” Evelyn says fiercely. “Even if you had, I would not hold you responsible. Fight or not, _they’re_ the ones who went too far.”

“But I-- I-I’m not-- I should have--”

“Shhh.” Evelyn hums, wrapping her arms around him again, stroking his hair, and Maker help him, he lets her comfort him.

She sits with him for a long time, not saying anything, just soft touches, one hand on his back and the other in his hair, holding him tightly enough to feel safe, but not enough that he couldn’t pull away if he wanted to.

When, finally, his sobs begin to subside, she speaks softly.

“Cullen, look at me, please.”

He dries his eyes and obeys, but isn’t able to hold her gaze.

The Inquisitor sighs.

“Cullen, I want to tell you something.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

“Call me Evelyn.”

“But I--”

“Please.”

Cullen nods slowly.

“Thank you.” Evelyn takes a deep breath. “Cullen, I… When I was sent to the Circle, I lost contact with my entire family. No one would speak to me. My parents didn’t want to acknowledge having a mage as a child.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Shhh.” She hums. “It’s okay. I don’t need you to be sorry. I just-- I need you to listen. Please. Just let me say it or I’ll never get through this.”

“A-Alright.”

Evelyn nods, takes another deep breath.

“There was only one family member who would visit me.” She continues. “My uncle. He came about twice a year, the Templars let him in because he paid them well, and I was generally well behaved. At first I looked forward to his visits. He would bring me presents, tell me stories of the outside world, of what was happening in my family."

"But as I got older, he-- he started to look at me in a way I didn’t like. It felt as if he was seeing into some part of my soul that was supposed to be kept private. And then one day… He kissed me. After that, things changed. Every time he’d visit, he-- he wanted something from me. And I let him have whatever that was. I could have fought back. I could have asked the Templars not to let him see me anymore. But I never did. He was my only connection to the outside world. So I let him use me.”

By the time she finishes speaking, Cullen is pale and shaking. He isn’t crying anymore. He’s furious.

“He-- That son-of-a-bitch. How _dare_ he! He had no right to hurt you!”

“Exactly.” Evelyn agrees. “Cullen… Do you think I’m broken because of what he did to me?”

“Maker, no, you-- you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met!”

“I’m not disgusting because I let myself be used?”

“Of course not! Evelyn, I-- I don’t even know how to express how beautiful you are, in every possible way, you’re amazing, you--”

“Am I weak,” Evelyn interrupts, “Because I didn’t fight back to stop him even though I could have?”

“No. No you-- you’re stronger than him, than what he did to you. Better.”

“So you don’t judge me for what happened to me?”

Cullen shakes his head.

“I-- I’d never do that to you.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Evelyn sighs. “So why do you do it to yourself?”

Cullen freezes.

“I-- That’s different.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I-- Because--” Cullen can feel tears in his eyes again, and the urge to be sick rises in his throat. “Because I _enjoyed_ it.”

Evelyn frowns.

“It certainly doesn’t sound like it.”

“My-- My _body_ responded.” Cullen admits, swallowing down the bile in his throat. “I-- I felt _pleasure_.”

“Enjoying sex and feeling physical pleasure are not the same thing.” Evelyn says sternly.

“Yes, but I still-- If I truly didn’t-- If some _sick_ , vile part of me didn’t _want_ … I-I wouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

“Bullshit.” Evelyn says sternly. “You can no more control that aspect of your body than you can stop yourself from sweating during exercise, or your stomach from growling when you’re hungry.”

“But--”

“No.” Evelyn puts a hand under Cullen’s chin, lifting his face to look at her. “Cullen, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve been hurt by the most despicable kind of people, and they will pay for it, believe me, but you _did nothing wrong_. You’re still a good man, a strong man, the same man who I have loved for months.”

“You-- You _love_ me?” Cullen asks, shocked. “E-Even after--”

Evelyn nods.

“Like I said, this doesn’t change how I feel about you. Not even a little bit.”

“I-I-- Evelyn-- Thank you.” Cullen chokes out. “But I-- I can’t promise that this won’t make things harder. I’ve already asked you to put up with so much, I…”

“I know.” Evelyn nods. “You can’t just forget something like this. It’ll affect you for a long time, most likely. But that’s okay. That’s normal. And I’ll be there for you. I want to be. You’re not forcing me into this relationship, Cullen. I’m choosing it.”

Cullen nods slowly, tears spilling over onto his cheeks, but they’re tears of joy now, finally breaking through the pain. It may not be permanent, but it’s enough. And Evelyn will be there to help him when it all becomes too much again.

“Thank you. I… I choose it to.”

Evelyn gives him a watery smile, before leaning in to give him a soft, chaste kiss.

“Good. Now, you should probably get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

Cullen opens his mouth to assure her that he’s fine, but suddenly feels tiredness settle onto him like heavy stone.

“Maybe… Maybe I should.” He hesitates. “Evelyn?”

“Yes?”

“Could you… could you stay? N-Not the whole night, but… just until I fall asleep?”

“Sure.” Evelyn says, nodding, no hint of impatience or disgust in her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure when I'll be able to post the next chapter, school is getting a bit intense, but I'll try not to make it too long. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter and feels a bit better!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the revenge chapter, finally, after more than a month. It's a bit of a different style than the other three, sort of told in starts and stops rather than one continuous go, but I think it works out better that way. Also because this story just won't leave my brain, I will be adding an epilogue at some point, hopefully soon. It'll be a lot shorter than the other chapters, but I think it will round out the story nicely.

Just as the moon reaches its highest point in the sky, the Inquisitor stalks out of her Commander’s tent, stormy fury written in every line of her face.

“Prepare the horses. I’m going back to Halamshiral. Tonight.”

“Inquisitor?” The nearest soldier asks, startled.

“Just do it!” She snaps.

“Y-Yes, ma’am…”

“What’s all the shouting about?”

Dorian suddenly appears at her side, but he goes still when he sees her face.

“Cullen told you.”

“I’m going to kill them. All of them.”

“Fair enough. I’d love to be there to watch it happen.”

“I’m going tonight.”

Dorian sighs, a determined expression overtaking his features.

“No you’re not.”

“What the fuck do you mean I’m not?! Those evil, _vile_ little--”

“I know.” Dorian says gently. “Believe me, I know. What I wouldn’t give for the chance to watch the life leave their worthless bodies… But that isn’t what Cullen needs right now. He needs us here, supporting him. What do you think he’d do if he woke up and found you gone?”

Evelyn glares at him.

“Okay, fine. You’re fucking right. I hate that you’re right, but you are. I just-- I want to _do_ something! They hurt him! They’re not getting away with it! I won’t let that happen!”

“They won’t get away.” Dorian assures her. “We’ll make sure of that.”

\---

By the time they reach Skyhold the next day, Leliana’s spy network has already identified the three assailants, as well as several of the onlookers.

“Thank the Maker you know everything.” Evelyn sighs, but Leliana shakes her head.

“If I knew everything, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. To think I was in the same building, and I didn’t--”

“Yeah.” Evelyn says hollowly. “I know the feeling.”

“We will make them pay, Inquisitor.” Leliana says in the cold, steely tone she uses when discussing assassinations, the one that usually makes Evelyn worry about her. “I swear that to you.”

\---

Later that same day, Sera finds Evelyn restlessly pacing the wall between two towers.

“Um, got a minute?”

Evelyn stops.

Sera sounds nervous. More than that, she sound serious.

“What is it?”

“I’ve got Friends, yeah? Back at the big fancy glitter castle? Well, I’ve been hearing some… some /things/ about that night we were there. Bad things. Thought you should know.”

“Is… is this about Cullen?” Evelyn asks softly.

Sera’s face falls.

“It-- It’s true? But they-- Those shit-eating pricks! They think just cause they’re all big and important they can just-- ugh!” She kicks the wall. “And he done nothing to them and all! Not that it would matter, still a load of piss-stinking, maggoty-- I hate ‘em! Hate ‘em, hate ‘em, hate ‘em!!”

Sera is kicking the wall repeatedly now, screaming, until finally Evelyn pulls her back and is startled to see that the elven woman is crying.

“Sera… are you okay?”

“Yeah, be fine.” She sniffles, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Just tell me… we’re gonna get ‘em, yeah? Promise me.”

“Oh yes.” Evelyn assures her. “I promise.”

\---

Then, it’s Vivienne who comes to her, ready with a list of names and damning secrets even Leliana doesn’t know. Josephine writes a flurry of letters, expertly tugging all the strings at her disposal until the no-longer mysterious masked onlookers fall to shame like dominos.

\---

Next comes Blackwall, a grave expression on his face.

“I don’t know what happened, and I don’t care to. Maker knows it’s none of my business. But I know what it means when a person gets that look in his eyes. And I know I’m not about to sit around and let those responsible get away with it.”

\---

Varric doesn’t say anything direct, but Evelyn can tell by the way his eyes follow Cullen when they pass in the courtyard, expression concerned, and the way his grip tightens on Bianca whenever someone mentions Halamshiral.

\---

A fortnight later Cassandra storms into the Inquisitor’s quarters, a murderous look on her face that Evelyn hasn’t seen since they first met.

“Cullen’s told you.” Evelyn guesses softly.

Cassandra nods, for a moment seeming unable to speak through her fury, before managing to grind out, “They will die, yes?”

“Yes.” Evelyn agrees. “Soon.”

\---

That night a small group of the Inquisitor’s closest friends leave Skyhold, disguised as travelers, all manner of weapons concealed in their clothing and the packs on their horses.

Josephine has already sent out invitations to three particular courtiers, asking each to meet an Inquisition envoy in one of three small, nearby towns just over the border between Ferelden and Orlais, and all three have eagerly accepted, hungry for the chance to have some potential influence over the Inquisitor.

Evelyn is not this group, however.

“You were more right than you might know, before.” She tells Dorian as he prepares to depart. “Cullen needs me here more than he’ll ever need me to kill those monsters, no matter how much I want to. Just… Just get ‘em good for me, yeah?”

“I promise.” Dorian tells her solemnly.

\---

As they grow closer to their destination, the party begins to split off. Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra stop first, heading into town towards a private house that stands near the local hotel, provided as lodgings for noble customers who refuse to be housed in the same building as the common guests.

Cassandra is unable to keep the anger from her face and posture as they dismount their horses and approach the guarded gate, but luckily her two companions are much better actors.

Dorian presents their letter of introduction from the Inquisitor with his usual flair, while Varric makes amiable smalltalk with the other guard, and soon the three are being ushered inside inside to meet with the man they are told has been eagerly awaiting their arrival.

In fact, Bastien looks rather bored when they are shown in, although it is a bit hard to tell behind the mask.

“Ah, the Inquisition.” He says lightly. “Such a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is ours, Lord Bastien.” Dorian says, mimicking the other man’s tone so obviously that it borders on mockery, but Bastien doesn’t seem to notice. He is eyeing Dorian with such open hunger that even Varric loses his his mask of disinterest.

Dorian doesn’t miss a step, however, moving forward to shake the man’s hand.

Bastien pulls him in a little closer than is strictly necessary, a smirk visible even beneath his mask.

“The Inquisitor must be a woman of excellent taste, to keep such... enchanting companions…”

Dorian laughs convincingly, pretending to be flattered, before leaning in to whisper something in the man’s ear.

By this point Varric has recovered, putting on a smile that is almost indistinguishable from his real one as he begins to expound on trade negotiations and land charters.

Cassandra stands in the back of the room and scowls, one hand on her sword.

\---

Meanwhile, Vivienne, Blackwall, and Sera approach an almost identical house in the neighboring town, although unlike the previous group, they have no trouble making their way inside. Apparently the Lady Magda has quite a few “Friends” on her staff, and Sera has managed to call in some favors.

Because of this fact, there is much less deception required.

They’ve barely entered the room before Sera has Magda backed up against a wall, an arrow ready to fly, aimed straight between her eyes.

“There must be some mistake!” The woman shrieks, ignoring Sera completely to look frantically between Blackwall and Vivienne. “I have done nothing to insult the Inquisition!”

“Piss you haven’t!” Sera growls. “What do you call doing things to people they don’t want done, then?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Magda protests. “Madame Vivienne, surely…”

“I’m afraid she’s quite right, Magda dear.” Vivienne says cooly. “You’ve done something really quite unforgivable.”

“I have hurt no one!” Madga turns her eyes to Blackwall. “You… The Grey Wardens have always been honorable, and you... have the face of a gentleman! You cannot allow a lady to be treated so unjustly!”

Blackwall glares at her. “Of course not. But _you_ are not a lady. You’re barely even human.”

“Can I kill her yet?” Sera complains. “We all know she deserves it!”

“No, please!” Magda cries, holding up her hands in surrender. “I-- I will do anything! Whatever offense I have caused, I will--”

“You cannot fix it.” Vivienne tells her. “But we’re not going to kill you.”

“What?!” Sera says, outraged. “Of course we’re gonna kill her!”

“That would be too easy, my dear.” Vivienne says calmly.

“But…”

“She’s right, Sera.” Blackwall interrupts, putting a hand on the elven woman’s shoulder. “Killing her is more than she deserves.”

“What’s worse than killing?” Sera frowns, not convinced.

Vivienne smiles. “If you’ll indulge me, darling, I believe I have an idea we’ll all agree is suitable.”

“Okay.” Sera huffs. “But it better be quick, cause I _really_ wanna kill her.”

“Oh no, no.” Vivienne hums, summoning magic to her fingertips. “This will last quite some time.”

Fire surges forward from her hands, and Magda screams.

When the flames dissipate a moment later, the woman is staring in horror at her own hands. They are covered in small, delicate burn scars, as is the rest of her skin. The damage is minimal, but that is hardly the point. The intricate pattern of scars forms a single, clearly visible word, repeated over and over again as if Magda’s skin has become the pages of a book full of just one word; violeur.

“What-- What have you done to me?” The woman gasps.

Vivienne looks down at her with disdain.

“In case you ever forget what you are, my dear.”

“Wait…” Sera whispers, eyes wide, “Does that say…?”

“Yes.” Blackwall confirms. “Yes it does.”

Sera grins at Vivienne.

“Okay, you win, Vivi. This is much better than killing her.”

\---

An hour or so later finds Dorian waiting patiently near the woods on the outskirts of town. He smiles when he sees a figure make it’s way out from behind one of the last few buildings.

“Here he comes.”

Cassandra and Varric, waiting further down the path, nod to each other.

Bastien arrives, smirking at Dorian once again, now appraising him even more obviously than before.

“Ah yes, a moonlight rendezvous.” He simpers. “How romantic.”

“I thought you might appreciate it.” Dorian says with false sweetness. “Now, let’s not waste any more time.”

“Eager, are we?” Bastien purrs, grabbing Dorian’s hips roughly and leaning in for a kiss that lasts only a fraction of a second before the mage drives a knee into the other man’s crotch.

Varric laughter erupts from the trees, and a moment later he steps out, shaking his head as he watches Bastien writhe on the ground.

“Oh, that was good, Sparkler! The look on his face…”

“It was rather thrilling.” Dorian jokes, kicking Bastien in the stomach. “Perhaps I should play the bait more often.”

“As amusing as that was to watch,” Cassandra says as she too steps out from behind the trees, “We are not here for jokes. We are here to kill this despicable creature.”

“Actually, Seeker,” Varric puts in, “I think I have a better idea.”

Cassandra eyes him thoughtfully.

“Ordinarily I’d reject it purely on the merit of being yours, but in this case I might consider making an exception.”

“You’re too kind.” Varric says, giving her a little bow. “Anyway, in Kirkwall, people used to talk about how back in the old days, if they caught a thief, they’d cut off his hands to prevent him stealing anything else. A bit barbaric, but you get the idea, right? A criminal can’t commit crimes if his tools are taken away.” He looks down at Bastien with a wide grin. “So we make sure he can never commit his crime again, the same way. We take away his tools. Or in this case, tool, singular.”

“Not a bad plan.” Dorian hums, casting a spell on Bastien, who has begun to get to his feet, freezing him in place. “One little flaw, however. If we let him live, he’ll tell everyone the Inquisition attacked him.”

“No he won’t.” Varric snorts. He clears his throat and puts on a false Orlesian accent. “Oh, Empress Celene, I was attacked by agents of the Inquisition! Yes, they lured me away by promising me sex, and then they beat me and cut my dick off!”

Dorian stares at him for a moment.

“That’s… brilliant, Varric. I’m impressed.”

“Why thank you.” Varric hums, giving another little bow. “Are we all agreed, then?”

Cassandra’s face is pitless as she looks down at the paralyzed man.

“We are.”

\---

The Iron Bull and Leliana, meanwhile, have a much simpler job.

Sylvie’s guards don’t even argue when Leliana presents the Inquisitor’s signed order for their mistress’s arrest. They stand aside and let Bull throw the woman over his shoulder with ease, while she ineffectually attempts to kick and punch him, shrieking about savage ox-men.

“We found several of these in her luggage, Sister Leliana.” A servant says, stepping from the group. She is one of Leliana’s spies, planted there a week or so before, and the older woman nods approvingly as she is handed a few vials full of an unpleasant looking potion.

“Good. Shall we go, then?”

Bull simply nods, and they depart, making no attempt to hide, but rather parading the screaming woman through the streets, a spectacle for all the curious townsfolk to gawk at.

“What are you staring at?” Sylvie shouts at them. “Can’t you see I’m being kidnapped? Someone get help! Help me!”

The entire town ignores her.

\---

By the next afternoon, Sylvie is silent as she kneels before the Inquisitor’s throne.

Josephine glares daggers at the woman as she reads the charges.

“...has been found guilty of attempting to poison a key member of the Inquisition leadership. Unless she has anything to say in her defense, you may give your judgement when ready, Inquisitor.”

“I have done nothing!” Sylvie protests, wringing her hands. “This trial is a joke! A sham! Empress Celene will--”

“Empress Celene has agreed to allow the Inquisition to decide your punishment.” Josephine snaps, cutting her off. "As is customary for allies who have been wronged by one another's people."

Evelyn wastes no more time but sits up tall in her chair, looking at the woman before her with open hatred.

“Lady Sylvie, I sentence you to death for your crimes against the Inquisition.”

Sylvie begins to shriek once more, sighting land claims, her relationship with the empress, her status at court, begging and pleading and hurling insults at all those around her, but she may as well have stayed silent for all it matters.

She is utterly ignored by everyone present it the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed that! I still don't feel too great about my Sera dialogue, but I really wanted to include her so here she is!
> 
> Also, in case anyone is wondering and hasn't looked it up already, yes, "violeur" is the french word for "rapist".


	5. Epilogue

The following morning is Lady Sylvie’s execution, but Cullen does not attend. He does not want to look the woman in the face, to know that she knows better than anyone else his shame. Under her gaze, perhaps he will transform back into the worthless, helpless creature he felt like the last time he was in her presence, only this time everyone will see.

Besides, her death will not mend what happened to him.

Instead, he heads for the small chapel in the gardens, but stops when he sees Dorian seated at the chessboard preparing a game, Evelyn kneeling by the flowers a few feet away. Cassandra sits on a stump reading a book, while Varric eyes her from a nearby bench with laughter in his eyes.

Dorian is the first to notice him, then Evelyn, and they both stand and go to his side. The sound of the other two stirring draws Varric and Cassandra’s attention, and both of them stand as well. Cullen frowns, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed with all of their eyes on him. 

“I-I, um… What are you all doing here?”

“Just enjoying the fresh air.” Dorian says, winking.

“We’re here for you, Cullen.” Evelyn tells him softly.

“But, I thought… Shouldn’t you be at the execution?”

“Oh, is their one of those today?” Varric asks in a disinterested tone, shrugging as he walks over.

“That woman does not _deserve_ our presence.” Cassandra says bitterly. “Not even at her death.” 

“But you were all so… I thought you’d want to see her die.”

“Not as much as we want to see you feeling safe and supported.” Evelyn says seriously.

“I… I’m fine...”

“Oh, don’t start that again.” Dorian says, waving a hand as if he can brush away Cullen’s stubbornness like a pesky insect.

Varric sighes.

“Curly, you do know there’s more to life than being ‘fine’, don’t you?”

“Well I… yes, of course I do, I just… I don’t want you to worry…”

“We don’t have to be worried to want to spend time with you.” Cassandra points out crossing her arms over her chest.

“Exactly.” Dorian agrees. “You know, there’s this strange phenomenon in which people spend time together because they genuinely enjoy one another’s company. I believe it’s called ‘friendship’?”

Cullen laughs softly.

“Alright, alright. Point taken.”

“We’re not too late, are we?”

It’s Josephine’s voice as she steps into the garden, followed closely by Leliana. Josephine is carrying a large plate, and Cullen almost instantly recognizes that it is covered with cookies of the same type as the ones she made a few months ago, which he embarrassingly ate the lion’s share of. At the time he’d hoped Josephine hadn’t noticed, but clearly she had.

Cullen can’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed, with six of his closest friends watching him expectantly.

“I, um… what…”

“We’ve all been working so hard lately.” Josephine says cheerfully. “We’ve barely had any time to spend with one another, so I thought it was time we fixed that.”

Cullen knows it’s an excuse, but he appreciates the effort anyway. He’d much rather not discuss the real reason they’re all here. Especially because he doesn’t understand the motivation behind it. Why would they want to spend time with him, when--

“Cullen, stop.” Dorian says from behind him.

“I-- Stop what?”

Dorian sighs. “I can practically _hear_ you thinking about how you don’t deserve us all being here to support you. Stop it.”

“But I…” Cullen frowns. “I don’t understand why… Clearly y-you all know what happened. Why would you--”

“Because we don’t care.” Cassandra says sharply.

“I-- what?”

“What happened does not change how we think of you.” Leliana continues. “You are still our friend. Our commander. Our colleague. We still respect you.”

“We _care_ about you.” Josephine adds setting down her tray and moving forward to put a hand on Cullen’s arm. “ _That_ is why we are here.”

Cullen nods, not trusting himself to speak. Even if he did, he could not possibly explain what those words mean to him. The support, the presence of his friends… It hits him, suddenly, that he has never had this before. Meredith may have played sympathetic, but in the end she used him too.

But these people, his _friends_ , they are here, whole and genuine, because they truly care. It doesn’t make what happened go away, but as he feels Josephine pull him in for a gentle hug, as he looks over her shoulder at the others around him, Cullen knows he can make it through this with their support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done! I hope everyone enjoyed reading and is satisfied with the ending :)


End file.
